by Tami Hoag
Jayne cast a guilty look at her wrist and the two fingers she had wound into the bracelet. She let go of the chain and scratched at her forearm. “Nothing,” she said. It sounded more like a question than an answer.
“We had a nice time together this weekend, didn’t we?” Reilly said in a tone of voice that dared her to say otherwise.
She nodded.
“Then what’s goin’ on here? You’re too quiet by half.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
Jayne bridled at the remark and the look. She crossed her arms over the Notre Dame insignia on her navy-blue sweatshirt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the same thing it always means in the movies,” Reilly said. “Trouble. So tell me now what you’ve got on your mind.”
Looking away from him, she nibbled at her thumbnail and considered an out-and-out fib, but rejected the idea. Reilly had the bit in his teeth now. He wouldn’t let go until she’d given him an answer. “I’ve just got a bad feeling, that’s all.”
“A bad feelin’ about what?”
She shrugged.
Reining in his temper, Reilly closed the distance between them. He cupped Jayne’s face with his hands and tilted it up so he could look into her big dark eyes. The uncertainty he saw there cut at his heart.
“We’ve got to have this out, Jaynie,” he said gently. “I came up here to settle this thing between us. We won’t get anywhere if you keep secrets. What is it you’re so afraid of?”
“Settle it? You make it sound as if I’m some kind loose end in a business deal,” she said irritably. “Is that the only reason you came here, Reilly? To settle the past?”
“I made us both a promise, Jaynie.” He paused, holding her gaze with his as the breeze swirled gently around them and tugged at the ends of Jayne’s dark hair. “I don’t regret keepin’ it. Do you?”
“No,” she answered automatically, but immediately she was assailed by doubts. “Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as if to clear it of Reilly’s compelling image. When she opened them, she looked off to the west and murmured. “I don’t know.”
“You told me you loved me,” Reilly said, doing his best to keep his own fears out of his voice. Jayne owned every corner of his heart. He didn’t think he could stand the idea of her taking it back.
“I do love you,” Jayne said earnestly. “I’m just not sure if that’s a good thing.”
Reilly let irritation override everything else he was feeling. He wasn’t a patient man. He wanted Jaynie, body and soul, and he was getting tired of waiting for her. It seemed that was all he’d been doing for most of his adult life—waiting to have Jayne Jordan love him. Now she admitted loving him but was waffling on the issue.
“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, lifting his hands in a gesture of frustration that hinted at his desire to shake some sense into the silly woman. “Of course it’s a good thing! People in love should be happy, dammit. Why aren’t you?”
She could have pointed out that he didn’t seem terribly overjoyed himself, but she refrained. That wasn’t the issue. “Because something bad is going to happen,” she said, bracing herself for a barrage of practical questions.
Reilly looked at her as if she’d suddenly begun speaking Greek. “What?”
“You want to know what’s bothering me. Fine. I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it,” she promised. “Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. I can sense it.”
Reilly’s reply was vulgar and succinct, a two-syllable barnyard word that summed up his opinion of Jayne’s penchant for premonitions and the like.
“What’s gonna to happen?” he asked, challenging her to put her money where her mouth was. “When?”
“I don’t know,” Jayne admitted morosely. For all she knew, this was it. They weren’t exactly having a jolly good time. But, somehow, she suspected this was just a tremor; the real earthquake was yet to come.
While the llamas looked on, Reilly paced back and forth in front of Jayne, reprising his role as the courtroom lawyer in Malice of Forethought. “How do you know this bad thing is gonna happen?”
All Jayne had to do was glance at her left wrist, and Reilly went off, his ready temper exploding like a Roman candle. He grabbed hold of her wrist and jerked her hand up. The tiny gold key glittered prettily in the sun, oblivious to the trouble it was creating.
“I’ve had it with this bracelet,” Reilly said through clenched teeth.
He hooked a finger between the gold chain and the fine skin on the inside of Jayne’s wrist and gave a tug. Jayne gasped as the clasp of the bracelet gave. Reilly coiled his fist around the loose chain. The key and bracelet disappeared inside his big hand.
Jayne’s expression was one of utter dismay as she stared at his fist. She hadn’t taken that bracelet off since the day Bryan had given it to her. She felt naked without it. Worse, she felt cut adrift from a source of security.
Reilly tucked a finger beneath her chin and turned her head to meet his gaze.
“Jewelry can’t see into the future, Jayne,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Get that through your flaky head. What you’re feeling is fear, pure and simple. Why don’t you admit it? You had a nice borin’ little life here until I came back. You could have gone forever coastin’ along takin’ in strays and watchin’ the world go by. I’ve upset your apple cart, and you don’t like it.”
“No, I don’t like it,” she admitted, tears gathering in her eyes. “I told you that when you came here, but did it make any difference to you? No. You just went right ahead and made me fall in love with you anyway. And what will I have to show for it? Nothing, because you’re going back to Hollywood!”
“It’s just a premiere. I’ll be back—” He cut himself off and swore under his breath as it hit him. “You think I won’t come back. You don’t trust me.”
Jayne couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Reilly the man. She didn’t trust Reilly the actor. They were two separate people to her. Unfortunately, they were wrapped up together in one devilishly handsome package. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
Reilly backed away for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. His pride was smarting. No one ever questioned his integrity. Where he came from, a man was as good as his word and that was that. Realizing Jayne didn’t trust him was like taking a blow to his solar plexus. He could actually feel the dark bruise spread across his pride and his heart.
Once he’d gotten his breath back, he took up his stance in front of her again, planting his battered boots and squaring his broad shoulders, digging in for the duration of the fight. “I promise you I’ll come back, Jaynie,” he said. “I always keep my promises. You, of all people, should know that.”
“I do.” But she couldn’t shake the fear that their relationship was in imminent danger, and that fear was more than apparent in her eyes as she looked up at him.
“You trust this bloody bracelet more than you trust me,” Reilly murmured, opening his fist to stare in wonder at the dull gold links. He shook his head as he returned his attention to Jayne. “That’s not the way it works, Jaynie. You love, you trust me. It’s as simple as that.”
Oh, she loved him. But there wasn’t anything simple about it, Jayne thought. She longed for peace and contentment. Reilly was a whirlwind of burning intensity. She had been a challenge to him. He had conquered the challenge. She couldn’t quite overcome the fear that he would now turn his intensity elsewhere. She had seen it happen time and again. She had had it happen.
How many times before she’d met Mac had she been courted by an actor only to be left when she couldn’t pay homage to his ego? Now Reilly was heading back to Hollywood for the premiere of a movie she was almost certain to detest. She couldn’t help but think this would be the crossroads where the paths of their lives would go in separate directions.
“You’re afraid to really love me,” Reilly said. “It was easy with Mac, wasn’t it? His
whole world revolved around you. It can’t be hard to love someone who worships you. Don’t get me wrong—I love you, Jaynie, but I’m not some tame old horse you can lead around by the nose. I’ve got responsibilities outside our relationship, whether you like it or not. But there’s one thing you can always be sure of: I’ll always come back.”
Tangling his fist in her hair, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. His other arm banded around her and lifted her. Her body bent against his like a willow to an oak. For just an instant, Jayne tried to keep her spirit from yielding as well, but the attempt was futile. She could no more deny him this than she could deny the sun’s rising. And, in truth, she didn’t want to deny him. She wanted to drink in every drop of attention she could get from him. She wanted to bask in the burning flame of Reilly’s desire, because she knew from experience how cold and alone she would be once he left.
So she gave him the kiss he demanded. She ran her hands back through the golden silk of his wind-tossed hair and over the smooth, soft leather of his old jacket. She pressed her palms to his cheeks and memorized the planes and angles of his lean face. She kissed him with all the love in her heart and sent up a prayer to the deities that, for once, the premonition the key had given her would prove false.
“Take a look at this,” Candi said indignantly the instant Reilly and Jayne stepped into the house. She snapped a purple fingernail against the banner headline on the Weekly Globe Report. It read “Critic and Casanova: Match Made in Hollywood Heaven?”
“You guys made lead story with your vanishing act. You beat out ‘I’m Having Elvis’s Love Child.’”
Jayne did a double take, studying the small photo under the second, less prominent, headline as she took a seat at the kitchen table. She scowled at her young charge. “Candi, this is you!”
The teenager patted a hand to her newly dyed burgundy spiked hair and batted her black eyelids. “Nice picture, huh? I look like Tracey Ullman, don’t you think?”
Reilly checked the photo and shrugged. “Kind of.”
Jayne smacked his arm and swiveled her ornery look from him back across the table to Candi. “Elvis’s love child?”
“And it didn’t make the headline,” the girl complained, deliberately ignoring Jayne’s point. She picked up a Fig Newton and nibbled at one corner. “People got no respect for the King anymore.”
“Oh, my Lord!” Jayne exclaimed as her attention was captured by the sentence beneath the banner headline. Her blood ran cold as she read it out loud. “‘Reilly woos reviews as Deadly Intent is released.’”
It was one of her worst fears typed out in bold italics for all the gossip-mongering world to see. As much as she didn’t want to believe it possible, she had been wooed for reviews before. And the fact remained, Reilly had deliberately avoided talking to her about the film—a classic misdirection maneuver designed to soften her up.
Her heart didn’t want to believe he was the kind of man to stoop to such a trick, but her head kept reminding her of others who had been, and then there was the matter of her bracelet. Something terrible was going to happen.
Reilly made a rude sound and dismissed the article with a wave of his hand as if he were a king dismissing a declaration of war made against him by some puny principality. “Bloody rubbish. I wouldn’t insult a parrot by linin’ his cage with that rag. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to sue the buggers before they leave me alone.”
“It’s a good picture of you,” Candi commented.
Jayne made a face as she studied the photo. It was of Reilly in a tux, looking devastating. He had his arm around a voluptuous female body in a skintight, black lace evening gown. Jayne’s own face stared up at him, her head tilted at a weird angle.
Her jaw dropped open in outrage. “They stuck my head on Anna Jonsen’s body!”
“Yeah,” Candi said, cracking her gum. “You never dress that nice.”
“This is terrible!” Jayne ranted. “My credibility could be destroyed by an article like this!”
“What credibility?” Reilly questioned sarcastically as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator and popped the top. “You’re a critic.”
“Go ahead, make jokes, Casanova,” Jayne snapped, swatting at him with the paper. “I happen to take my job seriously.”
“Bloody waste of time and talent,” he said crossly, his temper rising.
Jayne rolled her eyes. “That’s a good one. Take a look in the mirror the next time you say that. Ooooh,” she moaned to herself, her brow knitting as she looked at the headline once more. “I knew something bad was going to happen. I just knew it.”
Reilly swore, slamming his beer can down on the table. “This has nothing to do with that blasted bracelet.”
“Before this gets really ugly, can I give you your messages?” Candi asked.
Reilly and Jayne turned on her simultaneously. “What?”
“Jeez,” Candi muttered, wincing. “I think I was safer living on the streets.” She picked up a notepad and cleared her throat. “Reilly, your publicist called and said you’re supposed to be at the premiere tomorrow by seven. He’s already arranged for a limo to pick you up at your place. Jayne, you’re supposed to be in San Francisco tonight for a special screening of Deadly Intent.” She bobbed her eyebrows and forced a toothy smile. “Nice timing, huh?”
“I’ll drive down with you,” Reilly said, his gaze riveted on Jayne.
It was not a suggestion. It was a dictate. Jayne shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples where a sudden headache was drumming out a reggae beat. This was it. This was going to be the big one, the disaster her charm had foretold.
“You can’t go to the screening with me, Reilly.”
“I don’t want to go to the screenin’ with you. I said I’d drive down with you. You can drop me at the airport. I’ll catch an evenin’ flight to L.A.”
Jayne didn’t know what to think. Reilly’s expression was inscrutable. There was definitely tension between them—it was almost palpable—but what it meant, she couldn’t begin to guess. Was he really going to try to sway her opinion of the movie? Or was he angry with her for thinking he might do something so unethical?
Out of habit she ran the fingers of her right hand over her left wrist, but it was bare. The bracelet she had counted on to guide her so many times in the past was gone. She was flying blind, and she had the terrible feeling she was going to crash-land.
It was the longest two-hour drive in the history of motor travel. Reilly insisted on driving, which left Jayne with nothing to do but hang on to her hat, a green straw number with pink braid trim. She clamped it to her head with a gloved hand as Reilly sent the MG screaming down Highway 1.
“I didn’t come courtin’ you for reviews,” he said above the whine of the engine. A muscle worked convulsively in his granite jaw.
“I didn’t say you did,” Jayne shouted. She checked her seat belt and tugged down the lace scarf that trimmed the neck of her English garden print dress, tucking it beneath her shoulder harness so it wouldn’t catch in a wheel spoke and strangle her.
“You thought it,” he said accusingly, narrowing his eyes at the way his pride stung.
Jayne stared out the windshield, hoping she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. “You’re a mind reader now? I didn’t think you believed in ESP.”
“I don’t. It was written all over your face when you read that stupid article.”
He down-shifted for a hairpin turn, holding back the rest of the conversation until they were back on a relatively straight stretch of road. He chanced a glance at her then and gave her a sardonic version of his famous grin. “Never mind that I did the film to help out a friend. Never mind that I put my best into it. I’d do more good beatin’ my head against a brick wall than tryin’ to get a good review from you.”
“Don’t you dare say I don’t like your acting,” Jayne said, taking her hand off her hat just long enough to shake a finger at him. “We’ve been all over that. I think you’re
wonderful. The movies you’ve chosen to appear in are a different matter altogether.”
“We’ve been over that, too,” Reilly reminded her. “I had my reasons for making those movies, and they’re good reasons. That’s more than you can say.”
“About what?”
“About why you gave up your dream of writing and directing. You’re damn good, Jaynie. If you would have stuck it out, you would have made it. But you took an easy out instead. Life’s a lot safer when you’re watching from the sidelines, ain’t it? It’s easier to pick apart other people’s hard work and dreams than it is to build your own.”
Jayne pressed herself back into the seat, feeling as if Reilly had reached over and cuffed her one. She gasped. “I resent that.”
“Yeah?” He flashed her a burning look. “Do you deny it?”
Jayne glared at him, then turned away and began to chant. “Oooommm … oooommm … oooommm …”
“Bloody hell,” Reilly muttered, dragging a hand back through his wind-tossed hair. “Am I gonna have to listen to this caterwaulin’ all the way?”
“I am attempting to right myself on my spiritual axis and find the center of the universe,” Jayne explained primly, lifting her nose in the air only to be hit in the face with a bug. She turned and scowled at Reilly. “I should know better than to try with you around. You’re a disruptive force in my field of life energy.”
“Yeah. I oughta get a medal for that,” he said.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Jayne sat staring out at the scenery, not really seeing the rugged coastline or the golden hills as the winding highway took them into Marin County. Her feelings had certainly taken a trampling today, she thought, allowing herself the luxury of self-pity for a few moments.
Life with Reilly. He didn’t believe in any of the things she believed in. He bullied her at every opportunity. He hated what she did for a living, and he thought she was a coward. What a guy.
But she loved him, Jayne thought with a depressed sigh. She loved him for his tenderness, for his boyish charm, for his loyalty to the people he cared about. He wouldn’t have been arguing with her about the choices she’d made if he didn’t care about her. In his own rough way, he was as earnest in his convictions as she was in hers.
